


What Happens In Vegas

by EverythingHurtsAndImDying



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Bottom!Sam, Drunken Mistakes, I really like bullying Sam, Implied Rough Sex, Implied Sexual Content, Light Bondage, Luci marks what he wants to keep, Lucifer (Supernatural) is a Little Shit, Lucifer wears bright pink boxers, M/M, Morning After, One Shot, Sleazy!Lucifer, Vegas baby!, again everything is implied, and putting him in awkward situations, everything is implied, except that, that does not amuse Sammy, there's a surprise, top!Lucifer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-01
Updated: 2017-09-01
Packaged: 2018-12-22 08:56:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11964051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EverythingHurtsAndImDying/pseuds/EverythingHurtsAndImDying
Summary: "What you need, Sammy, is a good lay. Go find yourself someone and blow off some steam – maybe then you'll stop being such a lil' bitch." His brother had suggested around the head of a beer.Sam realised that when he'd began ordering beer after beer, that he had actually taken the advice seriously. In that moment, he also realised how hammered he had actually been – as though the churning sickness in his stomach and blaring headache hadn't been enough of an indication.---In which, Sam wakes up in a tacky Vegas motel room and he isn't alone.





	What Happens In Vegas

**Author's Note:**

> Finally! Something that isn't PoPS! (I'd like to apologise to anyone who subscribed and then got spammed ^^')
> 
> Not beta'd so any mistakes are my own :)

It caused Sam slight upset to know that the silk underneath his skin was what forced him to register that he wasn't in his usual place - a motel of some form, usually accompanied by rough and scratchy bed material. Instead of the wooden-box like bed he woke up to, Sam felt the softness of a foam mattress shift under his weight when he shuffled sleepily. But that wasn't the only thing that moved. 

 

A heavy arm, thick with muscle shifted around the brunet's waist and pulled him closer with a low possessive growl and Sam stilled like a dear caught in headlights. 

 

His body, fully naked and pushed up against another –  _equally as naked_  – body, started to wake itself up as he lay frozen with a harrowing headache blooming across his brain. His tongue was heavy like lead and felt like sandpaper as a regret-filled groan escaped his chapped lips.  

 

Only as he lay, accepting the dizzy spell washing over him overwhelmingly, did he actually register that he was in bed with another person. 

 

The yelp that leapt from his lips was of a frequency Sam would never admit to reaching while he threw himself from the reach of the other body. He was up and out of bed, body parts no longer sheltered by smooth silken sheets as his breath hitched in his throat. The clinking of metal and the strain against an already irritated wrist stopped him from being across the room and as far away from the slumbering figure as possible. Hazel eyes finally focused, in abstract horror, at his wrist. Red and raw, the cool bite of metal was the only reassurance that Sam was not hallucinating and that he was indeed handcuffed to a regal looking bed frame. The long chain-linked restraint rattled pitifully as the hand it was locked to raised in disbelief. 

 

Panic and adrenaline coursed through his body. Determined to put the pieces together, with a clouded mind and strained eyes, Sam inspected his surroundings. First was the bed frame, golden bars of a cage decorated with elegant swirls that was pushed against a cream wall; it was surprisingly still bright, as though it was freshly painted on – Sam was more accustomed to bathrooms layered with avocado grime. Above the bed and covering a large section of one of four walls was an attempt at modern art. Different coloured triangles were layered on top of each other and Sam got the impression it was supposed to have a geometrical appeal. It just made his aching head throb so he rotated his body and allowed his eyes to scan the rest of the room. 

 

A burgundy leather armchair with clothes draped over it was settled into one of the corners of the room, only a few meters from the painted white door that seemed to leer teasingly and remain all too far away. Across from the chair, against the other wall was a puce-coloured wardrobe that was reflecting the light cast from the overly ornate chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Sam noticed that small bedside tables stood on either side of the oversized bed and both were littered with beer bottles. One side also nursed an empty 70Cl bottle of vodka and a couple more beer bottles. Fortunately, it wasn't the side he had woken up on. Sam could sum up the room in one word – tacky.  

 

Finally, and with as much reluctance as a child admitting they'd done something wrong, he forced his eyes to settle on the area of the room he'd been avoiding the most. The bed.  

 

He had to admit, the purple silken sheets that mostly covered a pure white undersheet did look extremely tempting and, given any other circumstance, Sam would have probably enjoyed melting back into those sheets and appreciating the luxury and aura of faux kingliness they offered that he so seldom allowed himself to experience. But there was a man in that bed. Propped up on his elbow, the sheets pushed aside and covering absolutely nothing, the blond focused on Sam with a shit-eating grin. A red-hot heat flushed up the back of his neck as the man toyed absentmindedly with one of the dark blue plump pillows, his gaze raking down the Winchester shamelessly. 

 

Eyes met and the piercing observation of the other man was too much, he could see a tincture of reverence within eyes the colour of the coldest glaciers. It was the deadly glint of ferocity and confident demeanour that made Sam duck his head, brown bangs shaping around his face to hide the burgeoning blush that crept onto his cheeks. With eyes fixed on the floor – a seedy furred rug – he noticed a pair of boxers, simple and...  _Bright pink_. They were obviously not his but he couldn't bring himself to care as he swooped down and swiftly tugged them on; the task was rather difficult given his predicament but he was desperate to feel less exposed. Only then did he feel secure enough to look back at the man and found a small pout had formed on his lips.  

 

Brows furrowed, Sam choked out quietly, "Do you think you could..." He faded out and lifted his hand to gesture at the man's bare crotch –  _without looking at it_  – only to wince at metal scratching against his skin. The handcuff had been forgotten in the midst of his chagrin.  

 

He watched the blond's eyes settle on the handcuff and something dark flicked through his eyes as his grin turned feral, if only for a moment, before he blinked owlishly and looked down at his junk as though it was the first time he'd seen it. Sam tried to wet his lips with a dry tongue as the man shuffled slightly in the bed, pulled up the duvet so that it was covering his crotch at the bare minimum before he sank back into the bed with a content hum. 

 

Sam's furrowed brows knitted closer together and the spark of anger at the nonchalance of the man supplied him with the courage to snap, "Aren't you gonna help me find the key?" 

 

God, he hated how rough his voice had sounded and the way his stomach dropped when the man didn't even spare him a glance as he looked up at the ceiling and stated plainly, "No." 

 

Sam was getting frustrated, he felt like he'd spent 40 days and 40 nights in the desert and this jackass didn't seem to be taking the situation seriously. "Why not?" He spat at the stranger on the bed with spite. 

 

Suddenly, the blond was up, folding his legs and making sure that the sheets covered him before leaning closer to Sam and purring with a smirk that made him shiver involuntarily. "Because I think you look absolutely  _delicious_  all chained up like that." He held the façade of the cat that just caught the canary and Sam refused to acknowledge the jolt in his stomach at the words. Instead, his acknowledgement came in the form of an unintelligible splutter and blood rushing to his ears.   

 

The stranger watched him with a hungry amused face until Sam's meaningless stutters faded away and defeat blossomed in its wake. Then he casually lowered himself back onto the bed and returned to staring at the ceiling. Sam let out an exasperated huff and disregarded the douche as he began searching for the key to his restraint. It wasn't without hardship, that he got irksome whilst looking for his key to freedom, quite literally. The room was silent sans the consistent clatter of the handcuffs against the bedframe as the brunet strained to search – he could only stray about a metre away from the bed on account of the chain and when he eyed the man, weighing the worth of asking for help again, the frown returned to his face.  

 

Lazy concentration leaked from the man as his right hand was elevated in the air and Sam concluded that the guy was tracing imaginary constellations on the bland ceiling while he watched the hand dance gracefully in the air, index finger slightly crooked and pointing upwards. A question was hanging on the end of his tongue but he decided against indulging in his endless curiosity in fear of another creepy remark. But he had a sudden need to fill the silence with noise that wasn't the clinking of metal and justify his actions to the guy.  

 

"I, I don't- This isn't something I do, ya' know." He spared the blond a glance to see that he hadn't moved but an eyebrow had raised.  

 

"So, you don't get completely smashed and have  _great_ drunken sex with a stranger?" The thoughtful tone was laced with sarcasm and Sam was straightening his back immediately, poised and ready to defend himself.  

 

The only reason he'd even been in Vegas was because of his brother's birthday. Dean Winchester was  _the_ Casanova and spending his birthday in skeevy casinos and clubs was second nature to the guy. Sam, being the awesome little brother, had accompanied the green-eyed Ken doll up until the moment he'd been ditched for a raven-haired man who looked like he'd found a liquor store and drank it. Sam had been left in flashing lights and an intense bass with no more than a wink and a thumb up over the shoulder from his brother. He would have been annoyed if it were not for the dumb grin Dean had plastered over his face as he and his new-found friend left.  

 

_What you need, Sammy, is a good lay. Go find yourself someone and blow off some steam – maybe then you'll stop being such a_ _lil_ _' bitch._ His brother had suggested around the head of a beer. 

 

Sam realised that when he'd began ordering beer after beer, that he had actually taken the advice seriously. In that moment, he also realised how hammered he had actually been – as though the churning sickness in his stomach and blaring headache hadn't been enough of an indication. The man on the bed seemed to be suffering no repercussions though... 

 

"Yeah, well you don't seem all that drunk." His tone turned accusatory as the cogs in his head clicked into place – the guy could have very easily taken advantage of him. As much as he didn't like to admit it, Sam was a cheery but gullible drunk. 

 

The blond remained unperturbed by the claim but his hand did fall back to the bed. "If you're trying to suggest what I think you're trying to suggest, don't. It's not my fault I can handle my liquor better than others." His tone was bored and somewhat disappointed and the Winchester could only run a hand through his hair and exhale through his nose.  

 

The only place in his vicinity that he had left to search was under the bed and the prayer to whatever heartless force deemed this situation a necessity of his life was unwittingly replaced with a rather loud whimper as he bent down. The brunet bit his bottom lip so hard he could taste blood while he pointedly refused to question why his ass felt like it had been ramrodded with a trumpet alongside ignoring the wicked snicker from the bed above him. Of course, Fate is a cruel mistress and the search for the key underneath the bed was futile.  

 

He stood up, holding in any noise threatening to escape, and rolled his eyes at the man on the bed. The guy had stretched across the bed length ways in order to watch the other man's struggles. The sheets still covered bare minimum and the pillow was now tucked under his chin as he played with the tassels. Sam's mouth was open, sarcastic comment dancing on the tip of his tongue until he saw the lustful smirk and dark shine in the older man's eyes.  

 

"What are you looking at?" He hissed instead and the curl of the asshole's lips only stretched further.  

 

"I was just admiring my work." He replied suggestively and Sam blinked for a moment and then understanding clicked and his stomach dropped as he slowly lowered his chin to look at his bare chest. 

 

To his utmost horror, Samuel Winchester's body was littered with small bruises that ranged from a slight reddish discolouration to an undeniable dark purple and all stung equally. Hickeys.  _Hickeys_. His freaking body was covered in hickeys and  _oh_ _God is that a bite mark?_   

 

Sam was sure his face would be permanently stained red as defeat washed over him and he flopped onto the bed, mindless of the other body already on there. He pushed himself up until his back was resting against the headboard with his chained arm resting uselessly by his side.  

 

"If you think  _that's_  bad, you should see your back." Mr. Asshole – as Sam now named him - teased as he mirrored his actions and sat only a few centimetres away from him. He didn't have it in him to tell Mr. Assshole to move.  

 

_Nopenopenope_ , if he didn't acknowledge it then the mental barrier protecting his fragile ego wouldn't break and he could deal with the lingering soreness of his butt and the slight burning from his chest. Alternatively, he sighed wistfully. 

 

As the two of them sat in companionable silence, Sam's mind wandered; he began to speculate how he had gone from sitting alone in a bar to sitting in a bed with a very, for lack of a better word, unconventional guy.   

 

Before that particular train of thought could take the young Winchester to his own personal over-thinking Hell, the blond spoke up. "What's your name?" He asked distractedly and Sam could see from the corner of his eye that the guy was looking at something with intense focus but he refused to fall for the bait. 

 

_O_ _h, charming, he couldn't even remember his name_. "It's Sam." He grumbled quietly, hoping to keep the conversation cut short so he could wallow in his self-pity. 

 

"Sam what?" Mr. Asshole persisted, attention still elsewhere. 

 

"Winchester... Why does it matter?" He was frustrated now, wasn't sure why he was even helping the man when he didn't return the favour. 

 

Mr. Asshole hummed thoughtfully for a moment. "Hm, I think I prefer Sam Milton to Lucifer Winchester." He supplied before adding in a playful tone, "Sam Milton sounds domestic." 

 

Sam turned his body to face the older man, face contorted into something that resembled confusion and frustration. "What are you talki-" He left his mouth agape and his sentence remained unfinished as he stared at the finger that had been thrust towards his face. There was a simple gold band on said finger and the face behind it was smirking savagely as he held a certificate up.  

 

"Maybe Lucifer Winchester-Milton, I could get behind that." The man – Lucifer – teased lightly but Sam could barely hear him over the blood rushing to his ears as he glanced down at his free hand that had settled lamely on his lap. There was a gold band on his ring finger. 

 

_A band_ _on his ring finger_. 

 

_A ring on his fucking ring finger_. 

 

Sam wheezed, actually wheezed as it seemed air would refuse to enter his lungs. His heart raced and pumped a spontaneous amount of adrenaline around his body as his head started to go dizzy and he panicked even further at the short breaths – it was a vicious cycle. There was a teasing voice in his head, cheerily reminding him that his brother would never drop this; they would be in conjoining Heavens and everyday Dean would walk into Sam's Heaven just to remind him of this very moment. 

 

A calloused hand curled around his shoulder but Sam hardly noticed; his mind was in a frenzy as a series of scenarios played in his head, all more worrisome than the previous one. It was as though the world thought that being chained to a bed with no way out whilst wearing  _bright pink boxers_ wasn't enough suffering, now he was, not only a walking canvas but married to the horny artist who had painted him. 

 

"Hey, hey, it's ok." A voice cooed softly in his ear as he was gently tugged and pressed flush against another body. "Hey, it's alright. I didn't mean to make you panic – shit, it's ok, we can get divorced, I'm rich." Lucifer whispered soothingly as he placed his chin on Sam's shoulder. Normally, when Sam worked himself into a worry, embraces and intimacy were the last things on his list of priorities – he was used to being given space and time to get a hold of himself by his emotionally-constipated family. But the way this stranger held him against his stomach, thighs pressed together and hands rubbing comfortingly up and down his muscled upper arms ( _crotch covered by the blanket, thank you very much_ ). The bizarre chill of Lucifer's skin was a beautiful contrast to his flushed hot skin and the brunet found himself relaxing in his hold.   

 

They sat together for what seemed like hours as the younger man attempted to breathe like a normal human. 

 

Eventually, and with the aid of his new husband, Sam settled and his mind returned to its usual amount of over-thinking. The headache returned to replace the troubling thoughts and he brought his free hand, the one that now had a ring on it, to rub across his forehead as the mattress shifted behind him. He studiously ignored the slither of disappointment when he lost contact with the other man and squeezed his eyes shut to try and process the situation. 

 

The clatter of metal and click of a lock is what forced Sam to open his eyes and twist his head to watch as Lucifer unlocked the restraint where it connected to the bed. The Winchester could only watch with his mouth agape and eyes sparkling with disbelief as the blond shuffled sat down beside him on the bed, gently lifting his chained hand and removing the cuff with a sigh that could be heard as bitter. 

 

He remained speechless as he watched his husband crawl off the bed and slip over to the clothes laid on the armchair. Even as he dressed, Sam could only watch as the cogs slotted into place.  

 

"You had the key all this time, didn't you?" He managed to choke out just as Lucifer turned around, now dressed, and threw his clothes at him. The man simply shrugged and made his way into the bathroom, leaving Sam alone in the room with his thoughts.  

 

He sighed, too lazy, too overwhelmed and in too much pain to start any kind of argument – he'd need to stay on the guy's good side anyway if they were going to get through the divorce nice and smoothly. He slipped into his clothes, scoffing when he realised that Lucifer had stolen his shirt and given Sam his –  _and must be wearing his boxers, come to think of it_  – and slipped into his shoes just as his husband came out of the bathroom.  

 

They both did a sort-of cowboy staredown, each eyeing the other's chest. Sam's new shirt was a little too small and tight but Lucifer seemed to appreciate it. "So, what are we going to do about the divorce?" The brunet inquired in a neutral tone, trying to play cool and not desperate to be free. It wasn't like he was in a relationship, he just felt like a sinner and a fuck-up.  

 

"Firstly, Sammy," Lucifer announced as he moved to pick up the certificate of marriage. "We are going out for coffee. I'm not doing any kind of business with a headache like this." He grumbled as he walked over to the door and held it open, "Ladies first." Was quickly added with a grin toying on the end of his lips. 

 

Sam exhaled and looked around the room once more, not like it wasn't already ingrained in his mind forever. He would tell his husband to not sully his childhood nickname but he seemed like the type of guy who would take that as an encouragement to continue so, instead, he shuffled towards the door. "You could have at least used padded cuffs." He teased under his breath as he exited a place he'd never hope to return to. 

 

Lucifer chuckled and shook his head in fond disbelief at the statement. As payback, he slapped Sam's ass on the way out of the room and the grin on his lips stretched further at the yelp that escaped his new husband. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> It's 3am and I've just finished this, oh wee! Another oneshot I've had stored for ages and never got around to finishing - until now!
> 
> The PoPS prompts are really encouraging me to commit to writing so I should be posting Supernatural shit more often :')  
> \- For any of you who are waiting for The Call, that is coming I swear x_x 
> 
> Regardless, I hope you enjoyed! Kudos are wonderful and comments are always a delight to receive (especially if it's feedback<3) Take care of yourself!  
> *shimmies away to go to bed*


End file.
